


By Any Means

by Suaine



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-30
Updated: 2011-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suaine/pseuds/Suaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things can't be forgiven, but sometimes the distinction between the necessary and the horrible is not quite clear. Fenris has to come to terms with a side of Hawke that he didn't know existed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Any Means

Fenris woke to the carnage of complete annihilation. The scattered bodies of their attackers lay broken in the warm afternoon sun, as if the hand of the Maker had come out of the sky and punished them for their insolence. Next to Fenris, Isabela dusted off what little she had in the way of armor, cursing under her breath.

“What happened?” His voice sounded like sand caught between the cogs of a golem.

Isabela looked at him with wide eyes, but her voice was a curious whisper. “Fenris, I-”

That's when he saw Hawke. His eyes were drawn to the familiar colors of his robes despite the amount of blood seeping through the cloth. Fenris shook his head, perhaps to dislodge the image, perhaps to convince himself that his eyes had to be wrong.

“No,” he said, as if that could make it so. “No, not like this.”

He remembered how they had joked over lunch at the Hanged Man, waiting for a lead to pan out. They were after a band of slavers, because it was the right thing to do and Hawke had on occasion remarked that he liked the way it made Fenris smile when he ripped out some slaver's heart. Those thugs were supposed to be easy prey.

Varric had emerged from a pile of bodies, bloodied from head to toe, and was now leaning over Hawke. Fenris growled and finally the paralysis of his limbs turned into furious action. He leaped to the dwarf's side, still unwilling to look directly at what lay before them.

“He's breathing,” Varric said quietly, as if that wasn't the most important fact Fenris had ever heard. “Barely.”

Fenris reached for Hawke to reassure himself that his friend was still alive.

His hand recoiled as he felt the black, oily residue of blood magic on Hawke's skin. Ice filled his veins, his tattoos pulsed with the closeness of such power, and his stomach rebelled at the thought of ever having touched the source of it.

“He did this then?” Fenris' voice had gone cold and hard, a mirror to the feeling clamping his insides. The destruction around them, of course. There was no power aside from this unnatural magic that could cause it.

Varric nodded, his eyes downcast. “You have to understand, there really was no other way-”

Fenris growled. “There never is.”

He turned, saw Isabela's guilt-stricken face, and ran from this most recent betrayal as if Danarius was after him once again. He didn't stop running until he reached the foot of Sundermount.

+

Fenris paced the length of the cave. Back and forth he went, working out the anger lodging in his chest. Only, nothing seemed to erase the feeling of having his world ripped away from him. He ached everywhere, despite not having sustained a single bruise in the fighting that day.

Despite his assurances to Varric, Fenris could admit that he was, very rarely, prone to brooding. He spent too much time in his own head, evaluating his words and deeds relentlessly until he could find a way to be happy. All it ever did though was make him more certain that happiness happened to other people.

Magic had wrapped itself around his life and poisoned everything in it; even Hawke was merely very good at concealing his corruption. How could Fenris be this stupid, this willing to overlook the fact that Hawke was a mage for... for a ridiculous notion?

He yelled at the walls, sounds that only resembled words in the basest ways, and he felt more than ever that his name was a prophecy instead of an insult. Danarius had to have seen some weakness in him, some animal nature.

“You know, when I said you should find somewhere else to live, I was thinking more of Hawke's estate.” Isabela, of course, with Aveline at her back. What was it with humans and their constant need to interfere in his affairs?

Aveline, with her arms crossed and her face set in hard lines, mustered the cave walls. “It's a little... damp.”

Fenris felt an irrational urge to defend his temporary living arrangements, but even he could not deny that he had looked for and found the rattiest cave in all of the Free Marches. “I wasn't planning on putting down roots,” Fenris hissed.

To everyone's surprise, Aveline lunged and pushed him into the – yes, admittedly rather damp – cave wall. “What is it that you are trying to accomplish here?”

Fenris shrugged, unable to put into words the tangled mess inside him. “Nothing. I needed to think, alone.” He planned to speak pointedly, but his words came as a pathetic attempt at explanation. And then, because he could not help himself, he said, “I'm sure Hawke sent you for a reason, but I have nothing to say to him.”

“Ah,” said Isabela, and the tone of her voice sent chills down his spine. “Hawke didn't- he's not... he's not well.”

Aveline shook her head. “You could say that. He's been asking for you, Fenris, those few times he came awake. Merrill and Anders are with him now, but from their faces I fear the worst.”

Fenris seethed, feeling the magic of the lyrium rise up within him, and he pushed Aveline away with enough force to put her on her sanctimonious ass. “Well, that's the price of blood magic, isn't it?”

Isabela made a strangled noise. “You don't know, do you? You don't remember what happened out there.”

“I don't have to remember to know what it means.” He felt suddenly defensive, put on trial by people he thought of as friends. “Blood magic is never the solution and only causes more problems.”

Dusting herself off, Aveline said: “The question remains whether it's supposed to be _your_ problem. I suggest you think about that.” She stormed off in a huff, but she had the strangest expression on her face, something almost like grief.

Isabela gave him a lopsided smile. “I know you care about him. Don't let this become one of your regrets.”

+

Fenris entered the mansion through an unguarded window, sneaking into Hawke's room past the sleeping dog at the door. It was too easy and he made a mental note to mention it to Varric when all this was sorted out. He didn't, for a moment, believe that it might not work out for the best. If Hawke had anything it was blind dumb luck.

The room reeked of failed magic and incense, decked out in prayer candles to appease gods that no one believed in anymore. Merrill's work, then, and unsurprisingly there she was, curled up asleep on a chair. Fenris had no desire to wake her or encourage the insanity that was undoubtedly forming in her twisted mind.

“If you scowl any harder do you think the expression will stick permanently to your face?” Hawke was awake but his voice was thready and broken up by little coughs. His breathing, now that Fenris caught the sound, reminded him of a child's rattle.

There were a hundred things Fenris wanted to say to Hawke, but “you look terrible” wasn't one of them, and yet it was the one that slipped out almost against his will.

The sound Hawke made could well be laughter, or the dying gasps of a skewered ogre. “So I've been told.”

“I-” Fenris had no words. His hands, however, knew exactly what he needed. He reached out and brushed the hair out of Hawke's face. “What happened?” He'd tried to remember all day, but his mind had betrayed him once again.

Hawke made a face that looked like guilt and regret. Fenris knew enough about both to last them all a lifetime. “It was incredibly stupid and it's a terribly dull story. We were drunk and stumbled around the Wounded Coast like sheep looking to befriend a hungry wolf. They jumped us, took out you and Isabela before any of us could draw our weapons. We were surrounded, outnumbered and taken by surprise. Some low life was about to smash your head with a rather nasty looking hammer.”

Anger stilled Fenris' hand that had begun to draw small, caressing circles on Hawke's scalp. “So you would put this on me? Blame me for what you did?”

Hawke grinned, despite the tension in the room, or perhaps because of it. Humor had always been his defense against the cruelty of the world; it was one of the things Fenris loved about him. Had loved. The grin faded as his gaze grew distant.

“Do you remember what Quentin said about love?”

Fenris sneered. “Quentin was mad.”

Laughing, coughing, Hawke tried to sit up. Fenris pushed him back into the bedding and sat down next to him. Hawke struggled ineffectually against the hold. “Aww, c'mon, let me do this properly. I want to see your face.”

“If you hope your excuses will be more effective, you shall be disappointed.” Fenris' tone was stern, but he arranged them so they were lying face to face on the bed, against his better judgment.

Hawke smiled, a little sadly, and shook his head. “I just really like looking at you. No excuses.”

Fenris waited, but for a while all Hawke did was look at him as if it was their last chance, a moment that needed to be savored to the fullest. He frowned, a little put out by the presumption. If Hawke thought love was enough to justify using blood magic, then it could well serve as a reason for Fenris to abandon his convictions, at least for the moment.

A terrible curiosity rose up inside him. “How did you even know what to do? From what I can tell, it's not quite as easy as slitting your wrist and hoping for the best.”

Grinning, Hawke shook his head. “It's actually not that complicated if you've had some practice.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You surprise me, when do you have the time?”

“Long ago,” Hawke said, and now there was a terrible sorrow on his face, an expression Fenris had only seen once, when Hawke's mask had slipped after the death of his mother. “My father taught me.”

Fenris reacted only to the sound of Hawke's voice, unresolved issues be damned. Apparently love was even harder to set aside than virulent hatred. He kissed Hawke's lips, gently, with a promise that he could not put into words. He lingered there, tasting the residue of magic words that had no meaning but too much power. For once, he was not repulsed by their nature.

Pressing their foreheads together, Fenris closed his eyes and managed to feel only Hawke's skin, to shut out the lingering specter of blood twisted to unnatural purpose. “Tell me.”

Hawke's breath hitched, but the rattling sound had gone from it. Fenris tried not to think about what that could mean. Would Hawke draw strength from his blood until he lived and Fenris was the one on the brink of death? Would Fenris even try to stop him?

“I was eight, maybe nine years old. The twins were still more one person in two bodies, always speaking to each other in their own language.” Hawke's laugh turned into a sob half-way through. “You know, I think when Bethany started to show magical talent, it really broke Carver's heart. He never forgave any of us, father and me least of all.”

“I can imagine,” Fenris said, thinking about his own sister and her betrayal. Magic was a crisis waiting to happen, but in the last few years, in knowing Hawke, Fenris had begun to understand that it was neither magic nor the mages who were entirely to blame for it.

Hawke's hand rested on Fenris' hip, the warmth spreading through him like a fire. “I think you would have liked her, mage and all.”

“If she was anything like you,” Fenris said, “then I am sorry I never got to meet her.”

Hawke closed his eyes, perhaps to hide the tears Fenris knew where there. “When father tried to teach her about blood magic, she punched him right in the mouth.”

“What about you, then?”

Hawke sighed. With his eyes closed, he looked tired and worn out. “I worshiped my father, I jumped at the chance to learn something new, something special from him. But it wasn't what I thought it would be.”

Fenris frowned. “Is it ever?”

Hawke laughed and the sound was almost normal. Fenris kissed him, just for a moment, to feel that life had indeed returned to Hawke as if it had never been a question. “It was late summer and I'd been playing outside, long past the time I was supposed to be home. There was a deer caught in a hunter's trap. Her leg was mangled so badly and she screamed almost like the twins had done when they were younger.”

“You should have killed her right there,” Fenris said, already knowing that it wasn't what had happened. Hawke had a gentle, compassionate heart, regardless of some of the choices he'd made.

“Perhaps that would have been best,” Hawke said. He sounded distant, as if the story had taken hold of him, transported him back to that summer evening. Fenris suddenly wanted to be there with him, to protect the child from what was about to happen. “I ran home to get help. Father followed me outside and he-” Hawke swallowed hard. “He brought our dog.” He nodded at the door where the mabari slept fitfully. “That one's mother, and such a loving soul.”

“I don't really want to hear what happened, do I?” Fenris had a pretty good grasp on the evils of blood magic, but this was something else.

Hawke pulled him even closer. They were completely tangled on the bed, Hawke's head leaning on Fenris' collarbone, almost as if he was hiding. His voice was a little muffled when he spoke, but there was still some humor in it. Fenris had a feeling that laughter would be the very last thing to go, on Hawke's ultimately final breath. For his own sake he hoped that moment was a long way off yet.

“He told me she was beyond saving and I think I threw a tantrum, tears and angry words and that stupid, childish desire to save everyone. For the longest time, I thought the expression on his face was disappointment, but now I realize he was already grieving.” Hawke squeezed Fenris' hip and Fenris took his hand, intertwined their fingers. “He told me there was a way, some ancient magic, and I was so young, I wanted it so much. I didn't really listen. He warned me that magic could not create something out of nothing, but I didn't understand. He asked me again if I was sure and I only nodded eagerly, watching him as if he were about to show me the Golden City in the palm of his hand.”

Oh, but this explained so much. How hard Hawke was on mages who would use blood magic as if it were nothing, how gentle he was to those who had been driven to it almost against their will. “He killed the dog,” Fenris said, not even a question.

Hawke cried now, but the broken sound of his voice was for old injustice and it was catharsis instead of justification. “He did. She didn't even shy away, just whimpered as the life drained from her. I will never forget her eyes, uncomprehending of the injustice that had been done to her.”

Fenris didn't feel the need to cry for or bemoan the fate of an animal, but the pain Hawke felt crept into his own heart and he wished nothing more than to erase that hurt. “But that's not how it ended, is it? There's more.”

Hawke snorted a laugh, a sob, something full of derision for his younger self. “The guilt got to me, but not the lesson, especially after we told the twins that our dog would not be coming back. They were devastated. I cut myself, sometimes by accident, sometimes because I wanted to find out how much I could give before I'd die too. I saved little broken birds and sought out the sick in Lothering who had no coin to go to a healer. I think part of me wanted to die. Father, he was... distant, and I read disappointment in his face every time he would patch me up, every time he would use his magic to seal my wounds, but we never spoke of it again.”

“What made you come to your senses?” Fenris hadn't meant it to sound harsh, but Hawke flinched as if he'd been struck.

“An old hedge witch caught me. She took me to her cottage to wrap up my arm. There was no magic in her at all, but she knew more than anyone I'd ever met. She told me stories about demons and abominations and templars, about the witches of the wild and how easy it was for a mage like me to lose myself. I thought she was full of it and told her so, but she only laughed at me and gave me stew to eat.”

“Let me guess, the stew saved the day?” Humor was not Fenris' natural form of expression, but it served him well occasionally. Now was not one of those moments.

Hawke flicked one of Fenris' ears. “Are you trying to get thrown out or is that just one of your many talents?”

Or maybe it was. Fenris chuckled and ran his fingers through Hawke's hair. “I am a very skilled man, you know.”

“I do know that, and you're actually not far wrong. There was a fairly potent health potion in the stew. I hadn't realized how weak I'd felt for weeks, how the magic had drained me until that moment.”

“And that was all it took?” Fenris couldn't really suppress the incredulity. Very few people managed to listen to reason when it came to power.

Hawke shook his head, his hair tickling the skin all along Fenris' throat. “Of course not, I was a stubborn child. I thought she was trying to enchant me. But I did ask my father that night, putting it all out in the open. I think I was finally waking up from some kind of dream. He said that our bodies are what anchors us here in this world, what fuels our resistance to the demons in the fade. If we weaken that link continuously, whittling away at the connection we have to the physical world, then demons have an easier time taking us over or influencing us to do their bidding. I believed him and I really didn't want to become a demon – they were the only thing I was more afraid of than the idea of templars coming to our house to take me and Bethany and father away.”

“And you never used it again?”

Hawke took in a sharp breath. “Never. Not until today. Bethany died because I could not bring myself to save her and I... I should probably feel worse about all this, about choosing you over her, about the blood magic, about putting my life on the line, but I can't. Just... if I think about you... dead. It's too much to bear.”

None of this was funny and yet Fenris could not help the laughter that burst out of him. “And did you think what it would do to me to lose you like that? Saved only to find that you had corrupted yourself, or even died?”

Hawke's voice was very quiet, but its echo seemed to fill the room with dire portents. “I thought it better you were alive and hating me than to have to live a life without you in it.”

Fenris' heart was beating too fast and for a moment he had no breath to speak. “You are unbelievable. As if I would fare any better without _you_. As if I did not love you more than my own life.”

Hawke twitched at that word, the one that meant so much and was said so little between them. “Maybe I had to take the chance that somehow we'd both come out of it not quite worse for wear.”

“I'm glad you did,” Fenris whispered, despite himself, despite his own convictions. Despite the truth.

Hawke lay completely still and then he pulled back, one eyebrow raised as if he could not possibly believe what had just been said. The incredulity looked good on him. It made Fenris smile.

“You are such a tit sometimes, you know that?”

Fenris laughed and laughed. Hawke almost smothered him with a kiss to shut him up. Of all the things that they had shared, Fenris thought the next kiss, the next touch, every potential future that had both of them in it, was worth more than his own principles.

Still, “If you ever turn into an abomination and I have to kill you, I'll hunt you down in the fade and make you regret it.” It sounded and felt like a promise.

+

“Oh, oh my.” Merrill's eyes were huge and round and directed at bits of Hawke that Fenris preferred to keep to himself. His own eyes were probably just as big and his own chest just as exposed.

“Er,” he said, rather unhelpfully.

Hawke, of course, had broken into slightly hysterical giggles. “We- sorry, Merrill, we- we forgot you were there.”

“Yes, I can see that,” she said. Then she blushed and put a hand over her face. “I mean, not that I've seen anything. Or want to. But it's good that you're feeling better. I'm sure the exercise helps.”

Saying that, she'd slowly backed out of the room, her hand still over her eyes. “Sorry! I'll let the others know you're fine. Both of you, that is. Uh. We'll probably be in the Hanged Man.”

And with that she was gone.

“She's a good friend,” Hawke said, almost a little wistful. “We've all been hard on her, but I think she's stronger than we give her credit for.”

Fenris shrugged. “Maybe.” Hawke's hand was stroking marking over Fenris' hip in a delicate, teasing rhythm. It sent shivers of pleasure through his body. “I'd rather not talk about her when I could put your mouth to better use.”

Hawke grinned. “Oh, you have plans for my mouth then?”

Nipping at Hawke's collarbone, Fenris took in the thoroughly debauched look of his favorite mage. “I have so many plans for you, it will take a lifetime to try them all.”


End file.
